Lie and Let Die
by Unicorn of Castiel
Summary: Sequel. Cammie hates the Circle for what they took away from her, so it's hard to focus on rekindling the family ties that you were brainwashed into hating when your priorities are consumed with killing Catherine Goode.A Cavan girl though and through could be the circles downfall but the cost by the time Cammie takes a step back from warped determination might just not be worth it
1. Do you Hear the Music?

**Hey Gallagher Girls! I hope the old readers of this dark Cammie story have survived the changeover to this story and if you're a new reader I advise trying Cammie Of Cavan which is the story this is the sequel of. This hasn't been edited yet, I explained on the last chapter of this prequel to this but I'll edit tomorrow I just wanted both chapters up.**

**Review, Favourite and follow so I know people are reading this, I can feel it though guys, this one is going to be epic, buckle up!**

Chapter. 1 – Do you hear the music?

"Why exactly is this guy a target again?" Cameron Ann Morgan wasn't officially allowed on missions with the Circle, but Romanov Operation agents were going through a testing season - not that Cam knew anything about that – and it was just a simple assassination, nothing Cam hadn't been ready for years ago.

"Plots; problems; a considerable reputation that has the potential to become a threat to the Circle." The tall looming red head that Cam hadn't put much effort into remembering the name of replied swiftly through comms. It wasn't a lie, but the avoided truths were down to the fact that his plots were to stop a suspicious infectious raid on a small village that the Circles chemist division was devising. Not for the greater good at all. Cammie blew the steam that twirled desperately to escape the hot bath of death it had been born from away from the coffee she'd just purchased as she let the wool on her glove slide on the handle to the coffee shop as she left. Nobody would remember her there, when it came to being noticed in the field Cammie had a reputation of being something of a chameleon.

"C'mon Goode; Flirt, kill, time for dinner. That's all there is to it." Martin encouraged from the empty window he was working from in one of the surrounding sky scrapers that looked over the buzzing city bellow, she knew he was being nice because he never liked to call her Goode which is what Cam insisted to be recognised as after her mentor due to her hatred for the Morgan's. Cammie couldn't hear it in her voice but Martin held nerves more extreme than being active for the circle usually made him and he felt so sick for what they were about to make Cam do it was in everything he had for him to control himself just until this mission was over. Martin's position wouldn't potentially occur to her for years, by which point she would be too angry with him to believe it.

"Do you think you're funny, Abrams?" Cammie had no such intention of encouraging Martin with his preferred name; his actual one was good enough. She covered up her utterance through comms by pretending to take another sip.

"I'm hilarious." Martin dismissed he sounded as confident in his teasing as ever. "But now isn't a time for jokes."

"Request on a visual of the operative, if you two are quite done." The other agent droned dully to Martin as Cammie took a real sip of her coffee. Martin sighed with reasonably frustrated exasperation before he replied.

"Exactly what I was about to say, I can't see her at all. Jeez, Cameron could you just wave your arms about or something I have no idea where you are?" Cam smirked into her coffee cup as more frantic pedestrians went about their business in waves around her.

"A Chameleon never shares her secrets just give me an update on the subject." Cam dismissed soundly and the reply was one of someone who was settling back into dealing with responding professionally when they'd really rather know where Cam was first.

"Reaching the second target point."

"Perfect." Cameron responded blandly as she turned into an alleyway a reasonable but unsuspicious way in. "Excuse me sir!" She called with an arm out for assistance as a man of reasonably height but stick limbs and a thin torso strolled past with his floppy black hair over his glasses and the usual stains on his white buttoned up shirt. He halted and looked around before he approached Cam in the alley, people loved a damsel in distress.

"Gosh, so sorry, this is embarrassing but do you have a credit card or something I could get this gum off with I can barely walk without getting stuck to the ground. I'm supposed to be meeting her friends. " The man considered her, she was young enough for it to be half suspicious that she was out on her own but she expressed herself so friendlily that the man smiled and took her coffee, placing it on the floor as he pulled out a pocket flick knife and Cammie let him scrape the gum off her shoe with a lift of her foot.

"A pocket knife? Mysterious." Cam laughed and the man smiled a little too, as if it was that infectious.

"Mysterious is creepy, best not to joke." The man assured frankly, it was a pretty good act on his part - Cam thought – almost as good as hers, he almost seemed nice. Cameron pretended to lose balance and tripped, steadying herself on his should as he finished with the gum. "Jeez, I'm such a klutz today." The man laughed it off as he rose to his feet and allowed Cammie to regain her balance on him, a gesture that deserved quote marks in the air around it because Cammie picked out the small knife from her sleeve with professional swiftness and used the advantage of his blind spot to stab him in the back.

It was the best way she had been taught if you needed to kill someone, there was little blood that would get on you or the victim, of course it had the advantage of surprise and there were plenty of covers that were possible that could get it over equally as quickly as Cammie had just done. This way Cam watched the life drain from his face and she didn't blink as two more circle members came into the alleyway to deal with the body. Almost three years from now Cammie would be kidnapped from this family that she loved so much, kidnapped by her blood family and the truth would crash back to her to the point that every damn moment less prominent than this one would make her sick.

"You okay?" They asked absently because Catherine had told them to, it was her first kill.

"Dandy. The missions not over yet, get to work." The two men three times her age shared a look of alarm in raised eyebrows as Cammie pulled of her thick woollen gloves, felt the cold on her hands only fleetingly before she pulled out her lighter and set fire to them.

_cCc_

_Present day._

The circus music wasn't overpoweringly loud, it was gently and soft like it was alive and sleeping with delicate but steady breaths. The Gallagher Academy was completely silent in her dream but the feel of her bare feet on the cool floorboards and her hadn't curling around her parents' bedroom door felt the unnatural authentic that dreams presented your sense sometimes.

Matthew Morgan was sat upright, and it wasn't until Cammie was stood at the foot of the bed in level with him that she realised he was humming the music that was following her that she realised it followed her because she was singing it too. His eyes were open and staring at her, Rachel was sprawled on her back on the bed beside him but Cammie didn't pay any attention to her as Matt lifted the knife in his hand dreamily over his wife's chest as Cammie raised her own cold gun at her father's head.

Rachel awoke and screamed, it wasn't in her character and it wasn't very spy like but you could only be so professional when you wake up with your husband holding a knife above you. It was a good thing spies were human, because it jolted both Cammie and Matt awake, a little at least, because the doze felt like that of having just woken up but they hadn't been asleep in a trancelike state maybe but this was not extreme sleepwalking.

"Matt." Rachel breathed sitting up, his whole body seemed to be twitching as he turned extremely slowly as he stared between Rachel and the knife in his hand, Rachel tried to speak as reassuringly as possible as she turned to Cammie who was lowering the gun she didn't know from where she'd gotten it from as impossibly slowly as Matt held the knife – neither of them having left a position that suggested they were ready to use them.

"Cammie. Put the gun down, kiddo." She kept eye contact with her daughter as the Solomon's broke into the room, probably awoken by Rachel's scream, questioning who else would know about this from the flood of her aunts arms from behind as she took her wrists and forced the gun down gently but with sufficient speed as she glanced at her sister. They didn't trust Cammie, she could feel it in her throat that even though Matt was still holding the knife as Joe Solomon approached him hand around his friends as he took the knife that had retreated sufficiently to the open side of the bed.

"You're the one who's supposed to stop me reaching for the knife in the middle of the night, remember?" Joe murmured as Matt let the knife drop from his grasp and he alerted through the haze that plagued his daughter and him and stared with dead seriousness as he studied his best friend's face without any words. Cammie's skin was crawling; it had a habit of doing it when she thought of Catherine or Martin or the Circle or when the reality of what she was like hit her, the cause now being the latter. The resentment at the family in her room was just a symptom, they trusted Matt with this murderous anomaly but Cam could feel their terror that she still didn't trust them, that she was still loyal to the circle and although she was confused as to what the hell had just happened – as her eyes met with her father's again and she saw the steadiness he had gained already - she couldn't help but admit that she was worried about whether that was true as well.


	2. Strangers

Chapter. 2 – Strangers.

The harsh clatter rattled and banged through the headmistresses office; two operatives sat opposite each other over the low table to foreground the couch, two chairs had been pulled up to the table in question. Neither spy flinched at the sound considering they had been expecting it and the horrors that were unfurling from where it came from had been subject to numerous crashing noises in the past half an hour. The tray rattled still as the tap started rather abruptly, indicating that it had been turned on rather impatiently from the person covered in steam, sweat and frizzy hair from the kitchenette.

Cammie dared herself to pick up one of the strange small appetisers that Rachel had already brought out, collapsing into her chair to rest and refrain herself from snapping the fact that she was adamant she didn't need any help until they could smell something burning and she had dashed out again, yet to return. Cam had no idea what the soggy pale squares were supposed to be, it might have been pasty but the taste of fish and some sort of fruit made her gag and reach for a napkin so she could get it out of her mouth as soon as possible.

"_Cammie." _Matt reasoned under his breath and furrowed his eyebrows despite the fact that he did so as he lifted the pile of them for her to take as if he had known it was coming. Cammie couldn't help but notice that he hadn't eaten any of the terrifying soggy things himself and even as she coughed into the tissue he glanced at the door the smell was coming from and shoved a handful into the nearest potted plant. It wasn't like Rachel was in the room; Cam didn't see a problem in showing the disgust that was inspired for the excuse for food that lay in front of her.

"What is that?" Cammie pushed as she scrunched up the tissue and chucked it into the bin by the sofa.

"Hell if I know." Matt reassured as he studied the things on the plate with considerable unease. "But try and go easy with your opinions on it Cammie."

"Why? Is Rachel really that fragile?" Cammie raised her eyebrows sceptically as Matt rolled his eyes but she could see the delicacy of still hearing his daughter talk to them by their first names shimmer in them.

"You know she isn't but it doesn't mean it's not rude." Matt could see Cammie remain confused for a moment before her face fell and she pocked the appetisers around the plate a little, staying that way as Rachel burst in with what had survived the cooking ordeal. _Her mom burst in, _Cameron had to impress it into her brain as she glanced up a little from where her head lay defeated on her hand. Her parents had talked her into having Sunday dinner in Rachel's – her mother's office but now the outcome had been delivered she was failing to see why. Steaming pies and perfect vegetables could be being drooled on downstairs as opposed to whatever leaking burnt mess was being handed to her here. To be honest this whole scenario was making her feel sicker than the smell of the excuse for food in front of her itself, and the circus music was drumming its way in and out of tolerability. She wondered if Matt heard it too.

"So, err, remind me again why we're allowed to not go to dinner with everyone else." Cammie tried to sound casual as she said it but she could feel Matt impress a glance to her to remind her that she was pushing a topic that ought to be left, of course, but Cam was terrified of how foreign this all was to her and every now and then she would question what the point of trying to be a decent person was, and then she'd remember what her alternative was.

"It's a tradition, every Sunday at work Rachel insists she cooks because I'm the only person in this family who isn't Chef Louis who's capable of cooking for the rest of year." Matt explained with a smirk as he took one of the limp fries Cammie was sure there should have been more of - which probably accounted for the last dropped tray and dunked it into the pot of barbeque sauce. Rachel raised her eyebrows and threw the fry currently in her hand at her husband.

"Okay, one; you're welcome." She reminded by gesturing to the food on the table. "Two; I know you've been hiding food in that plant over there," At this Matthew looked sheepish and hid behind a chicken wing. "and Three; you're parents are considerably better at cooking than you so start deflating that big head of yours." Rachel finished with a smirk and a playful punch, earning a fry thrown in her direction in return that she dodged out of the way for. Cammie considered whether this sort of adorableness would make a normal daughter feel uncomfortable, but the unease she felt was something she was certain was because of how detached she was to these people. _If it had been Catherine, _she dared herself to think, _then I know I would feel sick, _but comparing things to her was like a wave to the burning hatred Cammie was consumed by even if this entire uncomfortable experience was in the shadow of the traditions Cammie had had with Catherine (who notably was a considerably better cook.)

"I meant this immediate family." He gestured between them. "Because I learnt to cook from my mom and dad and I was just trying to explain this _completely delicious _Morgan tradition." Matt tried to assure by chucking another fry in his mouth, although Cammie couldn't help but notice he had avoided excusing the food in the pot.

"You can cook?" Cammie didn't know if Rachel and Matt found it easy to be around her, to endeavor back to American pie family life but Cam wasn't feeling any of it, in fact the light conversation felt like a painful strain on her soul. Although it would have been hard to convince her that they weren't trying too hard, even as Matt turned to her with a gentle smile to reply.

"I don't pretend to be an expert but you used to… well the old Morgan tradition was breakfast for dinner on Sundays and you used to love these chocolate strawberry pancakes I'd make for you and…"The gentle smile had grown bigger and as he tried to express the foods Cammie couldn't remember with his hands, nostalgia may as well have consumed him. Cams expression didn't change from the retreat of uncomfortable awkwardness that had been in toe with the circus music since she'd gotten here. Maybe Rachel noticed because her eyes impressed on Cammie with worry as she interrupted.

"We thought about doing that instead, but this is the tradition we started when…well after what happened, or when we came to the Gallagher Academy and we do realize that things have changed so we're embracing that…even if it's a little burnt, sorry about that." Rachel finished with what Cammie could have sworn was a wince as Rachel chucked her chicken down with the conclusion that it wasn't so much chicken as it was charcoal.

"No…no, it's great." Cammie labored out the compliment as she picked up another lump of chicken and started picking off the skin, although she couldn't help herself from checking that there wasn't any way out of this as she chose to ignore the sentimental meaning Matt and Rachel wanted it to have as she continued quietly. "Does, err, Chef Louis mind though? I mean he's paid for it and you are the headmistress."

"Cammie." Matt muttered in another warning but Rachel just looked at him reasonably whilst she got to the end of a mouthful.

"It's okay, Cammie if you want something different just ask I can do something else if you don't like this." Rachel assured calmly even if Cammie wasn't convinced that she wasn't in hysterics over her and Matt's attempts at trying to put a band aid over their family troubles.

"I don't think that would help." Cammie mumbled as she gave up on the chicken and ran a hand through her hair as the circus music became a little bit more intense. Matthew gave her another look but it didn't stop that this whole thing felt wrong, the office felt cold compared to Catherine's coziest; the food was tough or soggy or burnt but all were not quite flavorless enough for you to be grateful when Friday had been the day of the week she had looked forward to and the inability not to drool as she ate whatever Catherine had crafted that week. There was an agitation that came with how much she missed Catherine and her home, that came with missing a terrorist organization that had given up on the experiment that they had made of her life at a moment's notice and tried to kill her to prevent the lack of information they had shared with her getting out. She tried to apologize but the energy this room was giving her couldn't stretch too far. "Sorry, but just…Sunday…"

"C'mon, what's wrong with Sundays?" Rachel reasoned and even though Cammie knew that both her and Matt's reminders on how to be a decent human being were needed after years of how it had been acceptable to treat people in the circle, it didn't stop Cam from feeling like she was completely useless and disappointing in what the three of them would have to try and work on. To Cammie she couldn't shake the feeling that she was only doing this because she had no other choice which only made it harder to see how hard her parents were trying. Cammie looked at both of them in the eyes, she tried to stay and tell them it was nothing and to carry on with this dinner like she'd promised, she really tried, but none of this sat right in her bones.

"Look, I don't think this was a good idea, I should just leave." Cameron stood up and brushed the crumbs from her jeans, awkwardly ducking her head and making her way to the office door. The music in her head hit a lull as if it was rewarding her for being such an inadequate long lost daughter. Not that this was without complaint, as both of her parents stood up with calls and arguments that Cammie only stopped for when she was in front of the door and for which she did not turn around.

"Cammie, please!"

"What's wrong? Cammie, just talk to us." The circus music picked up once more as Cammie submitted to the guilt of not being able to be the daughter these two people wanted nor deserved no matter how much she wanted to try. She flinched and brought a hand to rub at her head to try and quell the headache that had come from the racket that the music was rattling through her brain, there seemed to have been some agreement not to talk about what had happened the other night until everyone understood it more. And yet the way she heard it now was the way Cammie had been used to hearing it for years so she told herself she was used to it, although Cam could swear she felt Matt slack a little in understanding as she rubbed at her head.

"Is it the music?" _Stupid question, _Cammie's first thought wasn't in a tone she particularly liked in herself but she bit her teeth down and replied as steadily as she could, still without turning around.

"No, I mean yeah – well, it's just…it's Sunday," Cammie struggled until she breathed it out and did turn but with an expression that told them not to be to hopeful about what they were going to get from that. "and Catherine did it better." Rachel and Matt looked confused and worried and at Catherine's name they adjusted their posture like soldiers standing to attention.

"What are you talking about Cammie; we can sit down and talk about this." Rachel tried and although Cammie registered her desperation she didn't doubt that her mother was aware of how unlikely trying to be a good parent would work on her.

"No we can't, Rachel – I me…there's no point mom; I hate that woman, really I do, she's broken me because I'm mean and vindictive and the way I think about getting pay back is always in the mind of a circle member. I'm struggling to contemplate the way most people see the world without everything they taught me popping up and disagreeing automatically despite my entire body knowing that that isn't me, that they made me that way but that girl who liked Matt's – _her dad's_ - pancakes is gone, you can try and convince yourselves that playing happy families is going to solve everything but Catherine is the one I remember being my family and I miss her – I hate it, but Friday's are family meal days and the food is more than decent and Catherine did it better."

"Cammie-" Whatever Matt was going to try and say now, Cammie didn't want to hear it, she backed towards the door more as she swallowed down the lump in her throat where it could join the unsettled feeling in her stomach. The music dulled at her signs of leaving, that damn tune had a knack for rewarding her with a peace and quiet whenever she argued with her parents or rather rang a bell in her ear whenever she did something that wasn't Circle loyal – as was the way it had been wired into her brain. Cammie just chose to be grateful for the time it gave her to breathe.

"Don't bother telling me it's wrong because I know; I just need to focus on getting her dead and then it won't matter anymore, it won't be a problem, I promise." Cammie had looped her fingers around the door handle, she turned and slipped out before either Rachel or Matt could say anything. What Cameron hadn't been prepared for amidst the relief of being able to leave there, was a toppling pile of the Gallagher Girls that she'd been sharing a dorm with in a tangle of microphones and other methods of overhearing. Cammie sighed, _she really didn't need this right now. "Seriously?"_

"What? We find out about this whole Circle of Cavan thing and you expect us to keep out of it?" Macey asked skeptically as she rose to her feet and straightened her skirt as Bex, who hadn't quite collapsed all the way down, helped Liz up with an outstretched hand.

"Yes." Cammie replied with a rather harsh certainty that she couldn't help. "I do actually, because I was under the impression that Gallagher Girls were a bunch of Mary Sue's." Cammie carried on to leave the hall past them without waiting, although she did register the look Macey gave her, a look she'd been receiving a lot lately from her; although it was a mystery she wasn't too fussed about when she was trying to deal with the falsehood of what had been her previous family.

"Well that's just a hilarious impression the Circle tries to hammer in to their new recruits." Macey stated in a way that was too labored for it not mean anything. The three students scurried up the equipment they'd been using to eavesdrop and hurried after her as if she was about to gossip about the uncomfortable experience she'd endured.

"Besides the circle isn't anybodies business here anymore, Matt and Joe aren't on the case anymore and you almost got yourselves killed going to Kentucky. Move on with your lives." Cammie replied rather flatly. The three behind her didn't really know why she was walking so quickly as if to get away from them; they were all heading to the same room.

"Says the person who was just talking about killing one of them as if that would make her mental issues all better." Bex commented harshly, the British Gallagher Girl had been particularly reluctant to treat Cammie with any respect of dignity and although it was a testament to the manipulation that founded her that led to Cammie's confusion as to why Bex had such a particular problem with her, Cammie didn't really care about her teen drama either.

"That was and is none of your concern." Cammie spoke as flatly as she had done before as the three Gallagher Girls brought themselves up to walk equally with her even if Liz tripped on Macey's heals as she came to her side.

"We're spies, it doesn't work like that." Sutton pointed out and it really did sound like she believed it. Cammie just rolled her eyes.

"I know these people and I know what they'll do. They need me to get rid of them so be good girls, do yourselves a favor and stay out of it before you're killed and that's not excluding the possibility that I might be the one to do it because I'm not letting you get in my way."

* * *

><p>The day had been slow; an observation that would have undoubtedly been deemed incorrect by a civilian but for the five operatives with a level of clearance that most spies in the CIA wouldn't have known existed. The total cost of the technology in the room was one that would preferably be ignored but the dozen screens that surrounded them were consumed with every file and report on the Circle of Cavan that Matthew Morgan and Joseph Solomon had put their lives into.<p>

Jeremy Verger: Stretching the band of middle aged but had a file of experience under it that was alarmingly full, he was currently taking off his glasses and running a hand through his graying hair as he compared a list of names and places that had ever been referenced in the files of the past twenty or so years.

Seamus Fitchin: Rather impressive when it comes to constructing and carrying out covers, he had devised the seemingly most ridiculous plans for the most intense of situations and had achieved all objectives without a hitch. He was currently trying to stay awake with his feet on the desk as he slid through every picture that had been collected and filed by the previous agents who had worked on the Circle with the advantage of having someone working on the inside.

Naomi Brookland: Renowned for her expertise in interrogation with a very low rate of failure was now scanning through the recordings of every word spoken by the leaders of the Circle that Morgan and Solomon had brought into custody. She had been called in especially to join the team from MI6, who had gained her from the French where she had moved to after the first section of her career in the Algerian Secret Service. She had only just turned thirty.

Susanna Wright: Knew how to case a place and map out any surroundings that might be necessary with a precise eye that could get even the most junior agent through the walls without being noticed, she'd gained access to over a hundred detailed blue-prints of a wide range of places just for fun. As she pulled her blonde hair over her shoulder as she reviewed different areas of the files with a certain amount of disappointment she had in the way they had dealt with certain raids considering the reputation the two people who had worked this case before them had gained in doing so.

Marcus Smith: The youngest Operative amongst the group but reliable – and good with explosives. He yawned as the confirmation for their plane came through at his laptop. They were going to Italy.

**Thanks for coming over to this story from bandwagon that was Cammie of Cavan, I promise you this one will be devastating. And look at me! I've been updating on time! I'm a changed person! Keep those notifications rolling in so I fell guilt tripped into updating more and let me know what you're thinking ;)**


	3. Boys with IceCream are Not to be Trusted

**Apologies that I didn't post last week - mock exams and all that and I don't know if this chapter is worth the delay because I moved half of it into the next chapter to get this done at all. Which will hopefully make next week more exciting but there's nothing quite like a depressed Circle working Preston Winters for you all this...winter. Review, Favorite and Follow to prevent me from falling into the pit of procrastination that got Cammie of Cavan going for two years. **

Chapter. 3 – Boys with Ice Cream are Not to be Trusted.

The sun shone with an orange glow through the glass of the cafe's and shops on the street in a town close to Rome, the morning air smelt fresh as opposed to what would have been available in the city so had chosen to occupy one of the safe-bases he would be needing in this part of the country where the streets weren't as busy. He looked like any other young businessman sitting to his breakfast before he set of to work in the city. He sat back in his chair with an ankle resting on his other knee, raising himself to take a spoon of ice cream as it dripped back into the bowl where it melted. A gentle buzzing pulsed in the pocket over his heart and Preston let his spoon clutter back down as he fell back to a slouch again with both feet on the floor as he pulled one of his many phones out from the pocket in question and accepted the call in a lazy swish.

"Catherine." Preston recognized flatly as a greeting before any noise was ever made on the phone - swiftly changed by the exhale of frustration that followed.

"_Where the hell are you and what are you doing?" _Catherine snapped but Preston could hear the backtrack in her throat at his answer of a sighed tut in the midst of his silent response. "Sir." She added to the end in something of a reserved tone that she used to cover her constant impatience with her boss to cling onto the remaining strands of professionalism she had after her usual behavior with someone who could get her killed.

"I'm enjoying Italy's beauty over a good breakfast, thank you for your interest; although I do find the note of distress in your tone rather curious." Preston spoke innocently as he pushed a sweet cracker through the ice cream that had melted into an island in his bowl.

"I was merely noticing, sir, that you are the last remaining heir of the Circle's founding families and have gathered what is left of us at our weakest to one place where Morgan and Solomon are undoubtedly aware of now if they weren't three months ago. I was merely requesting more information on the plans you seem so assured on; of which you have not yet made any progress to. I was under the impression that our immediate grouping here was to stay ahead of the threat." Preston could hear the strain of the resentment in her voice, he might have found it funny if he was capable of finding his way to attach to whatever humor that might have gotten lost inside him somewhere. He gave a hollow laugh anyway purely to annoy her.

"Trust me." Was all Preston said, he could practically hear Catherine's inclination to yell at him for the same answer he'd been giving her for the months she'd been complaining about their lack of movement. He could see a figure emerge through the peacefully clear street that he hadn't been looking out for but who he now kept his eyes on as the approaching agent shoved his hands in his pockets against the breeze and glanced around. "I'll be in the city today but I shouldn't think I'll need to answer these questions for you, Cat." He said it because to speak so formally for the entire phone call would set him out as an odd one amongst the tables outside this cafe and because he knew it would make Catherine _really _angry. "Morgan and Solomon have been removed from our case." There was a silence where Catherine's mind was too preoccupied with this information to be frustrated with Preston.

"And you know this do you? How?" It was measured and fair and the way everyone else spoke to Preston. The figure he followed through his glasses stopped in fluent Italian when a woman in her twenties outside the bakery a little way down and on the opposite side of the street knocked a bin of baguettes over to help bring them up. It hurt him to look at, more agonizing than anyone would think; he'd have done that once – he'd have fumbled and blushed and have spoken politely as opposed to not even noticing as he allowed himself to his moments of letting the numb consumption of not having to do what he spent his life doing for a few minutes; not even realizing he was still being the person who might have stopped being a facade years ago.

"I have my sources." Preston switched the hand that held his phone and lifted his spare one to catch the figures attention even if he knew they wouldn't miss him; again it was for the benefit of those around him to make the encounter more natural to not notice. "Get back to work, Catherine." He hung up.

Martin looked a little grumpy as he swung his way around the corner of fence that squared off an outside seating area for the place. He rubbed his face in his hands as he took a seat opposite Preston on the set of table and chairs that wouldn't look out of place in an English cottage garden. Preston could tell Martin hadn't been sleeping well, an observation he'd been making naturally on the few occasions he'd seen him in the past few months, but this was something of their first proper encounter since they'd fled America.

"Good Morning." Preston greeted with what sounded like little enthusiasm as he slid that particular phone back into the pocket it had come from and he took another spoonful of ice cream. Martin pulled himself up to a proper posture with a cynical laugh and a frank expression that he didn't even worry about the repercussions of considering he was opposite the head of the Circle of Cavan, he didn't realize he was comfortable around him but considering Preston had never warned him against such behavior Martin didn't perceive their relationship as odd.

"Okay, good morning." He rubbed at the back of his neck confirming his exhaustion and Preston proceeded to observe the confirmation from the creases in his skin and the way Martin wore his clothes as if he wasn't used to the comfort that he had slept rough as well as barely at all. He had probably been part of the whiplash group that had returned from Norway in a drug smuggling operation the night before – or more accurately earlier this morning. Preston's mind buzzed on several other things more prominently at the same time.

"Are you going to be ordering anything?" Preston asked as he glanced up from the ice- cream he was still steadily consuming, of which Martin was staring into with puffy, sleep-deprived, eyes with a reasonably blank expression.

"Ice-cream for breakfast? I'm all right, thanks." Martin dismissed as he refocused onto where he was and what he was doing, although with a rather judgmental tone no one else would get away with.

"Inheriting an organisation like I have had to have _some _perks, right? They don't just sell ice-cream though." Preston reasoned as he brought up a spoon full of what was melted. Martin just looked tested.

"I'm fine really, I'd rather just get down to what you called me here to discuss in the first place." He ran a hand through his hair and slouched back into his chair, he was too tired to hold onto how he was supposed to act and considering he only ever spoke to Preston when they were discussing things neither of them were supposed to do in the first place it couldn't have been too deserving of disapproving.

"Right ho!" Preston sat forward as if to make up for the loss of distance between them from Martin sitting back. "Care to share what exactly you think that is?" Martin didn't change from the stance or expression he'd been in before that statement but his stare bore into his boss more deadly than it had done before.

"Me? Preston, it's been months and nothing has happened. I stunned two work placement kids last night and the guy next to me asked why I didn't kill them. I need to move and you're the one who told me to meet you here so if you don't have some good news I swear..." He let himself trail off as he tilted his head back over the top of the chair before he pulled himself up to sit straight in front of the table again, his exhaustion cracked through at his eyes and not just because he'd probably been up all night after landing back at Italy from the guilt of his latest mission. Preston felt something close to empathy and he picked it and inhaled the relief of its sent like a flower.

"You're the second person already this morning to complain to me about the lack of action, although the other was over a fact that nulls your worry in the first place. There has been nothing notable done to dismantle the circle but the circle also happens to have done nothing of importance in that time. Think of it as a lull, something of a stalemate." Preston hacked at what was left of the solid ice cream and took another spoon.

"You could send me back to them; it will be easier to take us down if we work with Morgan and Solomon. I was working on it, they could trust me." Martin had been practicing making this argument since they'd first gotten to Italy ready for when the opportunity arose but he'd barely started and Preston had already stiffened as he rested the spoon in his bowl.

"I don't want Gallagher Girls involved." Preston didn't look at Martin, who had been prepared for a shift in his argument – now he was awake and anyone overlooking would think he was a business partner trying to sell him something.

"Why would they be?" He hurried and moved quickly on. "Morgan and Solomon can take down the circle though - and with Cammie we'll have fire to get it done swiftly, she hates the circle probably more than I do – she hasn't had her entire life to get used to the burn." Preston still didn't look at him, his eyes were on his spoon and he chewed the inside of his gums.

"She hates you." He reminded, it was a fact that hurt Martin but Preston bringing it up made him smile.

"That's exactly my point, they know me, if I can't get trust then they'll try to manipulate me which will be good enough." Preston fiddled with the spoon and if it were possible he tensed even further.

"I recognize your situation but I've told you before that I can't focus so solely on the dismantling of the Circle from your perspective. I have my own priorities." He dropped the spoon once more and then shuffled in order to ask seemingly abruptly. "You know Joseph Solomon, don't you Martin?"

"I don't think Joe Solomon is the sort of man that anyone will ever really know." Martin managed to scoff out as he studied the change in Preston's persona at the same time. It seemed like an intense strain for him to have any control over the hiss that came with his reply.

"Quite." Martin sat back again and for the first time was weary of how he acted in front of Preston as he continued with the answer he had probably wanted.

"We talked to each other on a few occasions about wanting to take down the circle. I don't think he ever even considered trusting me the way he trusts Agent Goode's son – this was before they found Cammie and the fact I didn't tell him I was best friends with his niece probably lowered his opinion of me quite considerably but for some reason he trusts that I care about her enough to have contacted me to keep Cam away from returning to the Circle. I don't know why, perhaps he just has a good judge of character with that. I can use that, send me to America." Martin finished with a kick back into a pitch. Preston had let go of the spoon and you could almost see the clogs work in his brain through his passive eyes.

"Isn't that nice? How he can see how people care? You could swoon over him, couldn't you?" There was no mistaking it now, his voice was bitter and sick with his words. Martin was reproachful now, like the Circle agents who had conversed with Preston face-to-face naturally were because he'd clearly touched a nerve.

"Do unfaithful agents normally get you like this? I mean I know he was good, or was it because he got away? I would have thought- " Preston's short cruel laugh cut him off.

"It's exactly what you would have thought; I've known he wasn't loyal to the circle for as long as I've known he exists. He got me here in the first place; he's the one who killed my dad." He took another mouthful of ice-cream as Martin adjusted the way he sat, not entirely sure whether to feel awkward or not.

"And you know that do you?" Martin proffered awkwardly, the way Morgan and Solomon had handled dismantling the circle had been remarkably professional but it was a messy business and of course there had been spilt blood, none that was traceable to whose hands it was on, as far as Martin was aware at least.

"I do." Preston confirmed without tone as he pushed the bowl away from him. Done.

"For certain?" Martin probably shouldn't have said that. He wasn't entirely sure where it had come from, especially in that tone, and for a split second he was terrified of the look he got from Preston before he sighed and looked as tired as he felt.

"I'll be in the city today, Martin I want you to meet me at the American embassy this afternoon. I want to share my source of Intel with you." Preston sat back and folded the napkin he'd had on his lap back onto the table. Martin stayed still as he looked at him with the calculation that came with people like them getting offers as impressive as the leader of mass intelligence (good or bad) offering the source that their group was pivoted on.

"Why would you do that? Why me specifically? You've said it yourself that our aims don't match – surely sharing that level of clearance on someone who would use it against what you really want would be counterproductive." Martin didn't want to be right, he wanted to have the upper hand in bringing the circle down even though that probably meant bringing himself down with it. Preston himself looked a little confused as to why Martin had to ask that question.

"Because you alone understand what it's like to hate the circle but acknowledge your place within it."

"I don't have a place with the Circle." Martin tried to object but Preston's expression didn't change as he shook his head.

"Then why haven't you left? Not so impossible when you look at Cameron Morgan and Joe Solomon. You understand that to kill the monster – you have to become the monster. End game intentions or not you deserve to see it, you're my only friend." Preston's voice was soft and he felt like he was going to choke on it from the dust that had formed in the time it hadn't been in use in the way it was now.

"_Friend?_" Martin couldn't help the incredulous repetition of the word to make sure he'd heard right and he didn't regret it. Preston's eyelids fluttered but he didn't correct him. "This is not friendship, Winters. The way you treat me is barely an alliance. If you want to help me then fine and I'll welcome it but don't think I enjoy the backhand way you treat people and your disorganized priorities."

Preston rose to stand with impressive posture that emphasized his height over Martin, his eyelids hung lazily over the glance he gave down to him before he looked out over the quiet road of the town and did up the button on his suit jacket with one hand – the other resting the tips of two long fingers on the cloth of the table which he tapped as he spoke before brushing away from the scene. The leader of the Circle within him had all it's energy on his outer wall likes usual now but Martin noted the behavior as something he wasn't too familiar with.

"As you wish. I have no doubt you'll meet me anyway – you think what I want could get that little Chameleon friend of yours killed."

**Well, well. What's Preston's intel? Can Preston be trusted? Will the gang at the Gallagher Academy cotton on to this Italy business that is beginning to boil? Do any of them already know? Just how pissed off are Matt and Joe for being removed from the circles case? How is Macey feeling after her run in with this brand of Preston? All the answers and more will be revealed if I am motivated to update! :) *Nudge-nudge***


	4. Alone Together

**Woah I didn't know how I did this. Seriously didn't think I'd get this chapter done this week because at the begining of the day I only had three paragraphs and there needed to be _a lot_ of content. Enjoy the uncomfortable unrequited Preston/Martin bromance, the blossoming _maybe _of Zammie and the tensions of the Matt/Joe bromance that is attached to something so monumental. Yes! In that order! As we delve into the three pairs of people who are completely alone in understanding each others circumstances.**

Chapter. 4 – Alone Together

Screens of information and case files and reports from thirty different morgues and other sources across the globe were displayed in place of an entire wall. Which was considerably more impressive than it sounded when you considered the overwhelming size of the rooms of the conference and office hall like air to this place – the smell of fresh paper and overheated plastic hit you at every turn - but this room was sectioned with nothing but a row of desks in front of the screened wall and a selection of computers and gadgets that helped present it.

Preston used one of the touch-screen laptops on the table to scroll through the files with his name on so they appeared on the center screens. He'd memorized every file pertaining to his father – with little care for the ones that moved swiftly onto how to deal with him as if his father had been nothing more than an asset – reading his father's files now felt like bumping into an old acquaintance that had changed in a way you couldn't quite put your finger on.

The hands on his novelty Spider-man watch ticked to 12.59 in the silence of the room. Preston had burnt most of the stuff that had come from his life before the circle had taken him in the middle of his grief and trained him into this, before he'd pushed himself past what they'd intended to make him, before his father had died. He'd been so used to wearing this however that he'd forgotten he was wearing it in the midst of the destruction he'd caused in one of his fits of anger and sorrow before all the emotion had been drained out of him. Once he'd realised it was still there he had considered tearing it off but he'd calmed quite considerably by the time the flames had turned to ashes and he couldn't bring himself to do anything but brush his fingers against it gently and think about when his father had given it to him.

Another minute ticked on and Martin Abrams entered the room, unsure of what to expect but absorbing every inch of the screens he walked across too without wasting time in gawking at the expanse of it – there were more important things at hand. Preston didn't acknowledge Martin even as he came to level to the office chair he was occupied with, he continued with reading the files he had around him. Martin glanced at everything that was on the walls for his own purposes but eventually turned to the screen that matched with what Preston was consumed with.

"It must have sucked." Martin could have said he was sorry, ordinary people said that to grieving people sometimes but he was stood in the face of a grief that had nestled its way into the heart for a scar to have blistered over it permanently. He had also grown up in an environment that shunned emotional contact and had taught him early that sorrow didn't help anyone. None of that changed the fact that he couldn't imagine what it would have been like to have been a child suffocated by the Circle of Cavan after years of happy life – _Preston Winters _had had it happen to him and although Cammie hadn't known for the majority of the time he could remember her it had happened to her too – Martin had never even learned to breathe.

"Sucked." Preston's expression did not change, he was the one who had invited Martin here and had these files on display by his own accord. He tried the word on for size before swiping the screen and sending the files into the jumble of everything else. "That sounds like a good enough way to describe it."

"How do you know it was Solomon who killed him?" Martin asked reservedly, in a tone that could be forgiven if the question ticked off his boss. Preston pushed the chair further out as he stretched his legs on the ground and looked over the screens reflected in his glasses, answering the question with his own.

"Humor me Martin, what do you see?" Martin did as he was told. Initially he had assumed this was every bit of the Circle's information on its potential threats known by the names of Matthew Morgan and Joseph Solomon but the latter's name was too prominent for an organisation that had only officially known he'd been against them that year. That was the second contradiction Martin noticed, the first being the branding of the CIA's crest on almost every single document. This wasn't the Circle's information.

"Preston, how did you get all of this?" his voice was rather flat as he continued to absorb what details on the screen he could make out. Preston smirked a little out of the corner of his eyes and replied with his usual vague, seemingly-irrelevant turn of conversation.

"Double Agents. Fantastic assets in our business – if you have them you will win, but they are impossible to trust completely and are consequently only passed around within the lower ranks of the Circle or the CIA or whichever groups they belong to. I believe this is a mistake; the CIA are trusting the wrong people. I managed to get some of the files in relation to my dad's death at the end of my first year in being trained with the circle, I'd always understood computers – I managed to figure it out but the amount I gathered wasn't particularly impressive. It was enough to find this..." Preston slid the chair along the row of desks and clicked at a computer - another file flicked onto the center screen. It was the brief sort of case report you would get before any details were issued if the incident was important enough to require an immediate message. _Raid unsuccessful; number of escaped subjects high, failed to acquire target Winters – deceased via Agent Joseph Solomon. _

"I've known that Joe Solomon was a double agent since I found this but I didn't do anything because that wouldn't have been revenge – that would have been too easy and with what the circle did to me I admit that I want them to win as much as you do, only with a sufficient amount of casualties to make him feel what I felt. It did open my eyes to the possibility of double agents though, so a few high-ranked CIA officers report personally to me. What you're looking at Martin, is the result."

Martin looked between Preston and the screens in something of a disbelieving state, undeniably impressed. Names Martin was and was not familiar with stuck out as founding family leaders of the circle; Preston's father seemed to be one of only two that had been killed before much interaction from the CIA had occurred, although one had been killed during a failed rescue mission from the circle and two others had committed suicide before they could give up information (one in custody and one before they got the chance) the raid around Preston's dad must have been messy.

"How did you get agents with this sort of clearance?" Martin didn't look away from the display of information, he was buzzing – with the same Intel as the leader of the Circle of Cavan of course it was going to burn - if he had known when his birthday was, Martin would have sworn it had come early.

"Everyone has a monster inside them, Agent Abrams, I've learnt how to bargain with them."

* * *

><p>Air vents were Cammie's friends. She could climb in, through and out of one without too much hassle or signs of effort or exhaustion in her appearance; which was exactly how she got to sitting on top of Zachary Goode's bookshelf in the middle of the night. She ran her hands over the pages of his copy of <em>JFK: What really happened, <em>she brought it up to smell the pages at the top – it didn't smell like the books at the Circle, although it might have been the mental block of comparisons that existed at the Gallagher academy for her because if this book was Zach's it might have well have spent a lot of time around Circle locations. She breathed and brought the book back down, chucking it lazily at the sleeping form to her right.

Zach woke up with a start, wrapping his blanket around his hands as he got to his feet as if intending to use it as a whip, his hair was stuck up from sleeping funny but his eyes were alert and he stood with the posture of a soldier ready for an attack. He looked a little baffled until he finally noticed Cammie who was staring at him with a rather dead and unimpressed expression. He slouched back with a sigh of frustration and chucked the duvet loose of his hand and back onto his bed - blanketing the book that had woken him up.

"What the hell, Morgan?!" Cammie wasn't fazed by his attitude, he didn't look at her as he made his way to the light switch so the room wasn't so colorless and it was harder to ignore the fact that he wasn't currently wearing a shirt.

"Bex was snoring." She excused lamely, not entirely sure why she had chosen the time and the place, she didn't need to talk to him; she was a big girl that could look after her damn self but she hadn't been able to settle after another stupid attempt at playing happy families with her parents so she'd needed to do something.

"_I was snoring." _Zach reminded impatiently as he turned around harshly with his hand on a glass at his desk.

"You weren't." Cam rejected quietly, fiddling with the lace of the shoe on the leg she had cradled to her chest, the other falling lazily over the bookshelf.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you're stalking me now apparently, exactly how long were you watching me sleep?" He asked as he let the door to his bathroom swing behind him. Cammie heard a tap turn and when Zach re-emerged he looked more awake with water dripping from his hair and facial features – she decided not to assess whether or not it made him look better or worse.

"Not that long," Cam replied with continued flatness, she pushed herself down from the shelves and Zach was taller than her again. "Spoken to your dad recently?" It sounded a lot like casual talk which would have been an even odder objective for breaking into someone's room in the middle of the night but Cammie wanted to make him feel uncomfortable enough to maybe get what she wanted to talk about possible. It worked, his eyes turned away before his body did in distaste as an _ugh _noise broke from him as he walked over to a shirt that had been folded onto a chair by the blinded window.

"Townsend is in Finland for a few weeks." He didn't elaborate any further, pulling the top over his head, he avoided eye-contact even when he'd lost the good reason not to look. "Did you break into my room just to talk about him? Being stuck alone with me in the middle not to your liking?" he didn't look at her even as he referenced one of their more eye-opening fights.

"They don't think of me as stuck between the Gallagher Academy and the Circle of Cavan, Zach, I don't get to slip under the radar like you – or how you used to at least, you're getting yourself a fan club with Townsend and Solomon arguing over you all the time." Zach gave a tired laugh as he looked at his feet. Cammie folded her arms and looked to the side before fixing him with a strong hold at the eyes that he couldn't look away from and she tried her subject with a clear reproachful tone in her voice.

"I know this isn't really a good time to talk about this but...was Catherine a good mother, Zach?" For a moment the question hung in the air as the expression Zach had fallen into at the mention of his father that he'd been avoiding any reference of for months didn't change, only slightly as he shifted his weight and gave a bleak laugh as he dared to look away for a second.

"So it might not be Townsend but it is still my parents that made you climb through a vent to talk to me about?"

"With you, she couldn't have faked it – not all the time and I need to know, Zach. I need to know her." Zach got away with another escape of eye-contact as he rolled his eyes but she could tell he was considering her for what she really was. Cammie didn't like it, but Zach was the only one who could really have the chance to understand what she was going through and vies versa, so the both of them just had to put up with it.

"She really does care about me, she does love me." He confirmed like that was enough to ease the tempest in the form of Catherine Goode that was battling with how Cammie's life was unfolding at the moment. It didn't help – she'd been hoping he'd say she'd been awful, that way she could dismiss her as having no humanity in a single inch of her soul. "But she really doesn't know how to do those things. Sure it made it harder to hate her - to start off with – because then I grew up."

"I find it incredibly easy," Cammie could hear the harsh murderer that couldn't be stopped that the Circle of Cavan had created in her words but when it came to making them burn for what they had done she was glad of it until it was over. "To hate Catherine; it's just that after what I thought she was to me I don't exactly enjoy it like they made me enjoy hating Matt and Rachel. The only thing that fights against it is what they did to my mind, that's not me, I just wanted to make sure you won't mind when I get to kill her." They both knew that they weren't the typical couple of teenagers complaining about parents and that they were both incredibly serious even as Zach laughed and said.

"Cammie, you are going to have to get in line and believe me when I say it's a long one."

* * *

><p>There was nothing but the comfortable silence that was filled with the scratching of pens and the ticking from the clock as Matt sat at one of the students desks directly opposite and in front of the teachers desk that Joe had claimed as they marked their heaps of papers into the night in the classroom of Sub-level Two. Joe's phone sat ready by the side of the pile of papers yet to mark encase there was an emergency with Abby and the baby, a phone that he was always at least half aware of for every second she was pregnant. He wasn't one for setting legitimate homework; he'd usually say something relevantly profound in a demanding voice and hope that one day his students didn't die because of it. You couldn't let operatives in training get too used to a person's habits though, unexpected instances were bound to happen in their world. Matt only taught the Art of Covers and Disguises part of the course but was more used to marking, not that it was any less insufferable as the caffeine buzzed of before they made a new one.<p>

"So she just left?" Joe asked as he turned another page without taking his eyes away from the words in front of him. Matt rubbed at his eyes before he answered and tried to refocus on the essay in front of him.

"Pretty much. I mean she has so much anger inside of her now I don't know if she's ever going to be able to learn how to care about people again. Cammie is obsessed with killing Catherine but if she does all the other emotions it's cutting off could destroy her like that and I have no idea how I can help her." Matt was exhausted and lost - he hadn't been a father with a breathing child to think about for years.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have started with pushing Rachel's cooking on her to be fair." Joe continued not to look up as he layered notes onto the paper in front of him and his voice was flat but it was the only style of banter the two were capable of. Matt was the first one to look up from the end of his scribbled note with furrowed eyebrows.

"Rude, Joe, _Rude." _Joe only glanced up for a split second as he circled the grade on the paper and pulled the next one in front of him. He shook his head once to emphasize his next words.

"It's true as well though, and Rachel isn't stupid - she knows it." Matt folded up his own paper and moved onto his next.

"Fine then; If it was Krissy who had been taken from you by the damn Circle of Cavan and brainwashed into hating you only to finally realize what had happened how would you deal with it?" Matt almost sounded like he was snapping and Joe looked up for longer this time.

"You should know not to joke about that." He said flatly but there was a warning in his tone that was utterly terrifying – Matt sat back in his chair in defeat and rubbed at his chin as he looked at nothing in particular in the corner of the room.

"I know, but I'm just saying that I know everything that I shouldn't do to make this okay but that leaves absolutely nothing that I _can _do. If we can finish with the circle without her getting involved then she might be able to begin moving on – I just don't want to leave them right now." He collapsed back down into resting both elbows onto the desk and flicking through another essay.

"But you will." It wasn't a question, Joe knew he would, for better or for worse they'd known that undoubtedly as soon as the feed of the CIA splinter-group's (that had once been them) information had reached them.

"Yeah, I will." Matt stifled a yawn as he said it. "But you Joe, you should stay with Abby." All focus on their marking was gone as Joe dropped his pen and focused a look on his friend that was slightly judging.

"You're kidding right? You want to deal with the circle on your own while I get stuck her on desk duty?" his hand gestured down to the paper in front of him at the notion. Matt struggled with his words before making his argument.

"Abby's pregnant." He pointed out and Joe raised his eyebrows to make his judging expression clearer.

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed Matt, I thought she'd just gained a lot of weight and developed a craving for sponges that made her throw up every morning. It sounds a lot like you're being hypocritical to the argument that you literally just excused yourself with." Joe pointed out with a confident sarcasm.

"It's different."

"No, it's not."

"It just seems like you're not too bothered about leaving her and Krissy." Matt regretted it as soon as he'd said it. Best not to go there with Joe.

"Of course I'm bothered about leaving them but we can get back before the baby's born." Matt raised his hands in surrender.

"Look, I'm just saying because it never exactly looks like-"

"Like I care? I control the way the things I care about work inside me because if I didn't it would affect the way I work which is something I can't afford. Although it sounds eerily like you have a problem Matt; If you have a problem with me just say it."

"It's not a problem, because I know you. It's just that in the business we have to do things we don't want to and hell we've done some things that most spies won't even do. We've killed people, Joe. We've practically tortured people and I've been there every time and It's not like you enjoy it but it never looks like you care and it's always like you get something out of it."

"What I get out of it is information." Joe replied in a continuous flat tone – he was hurt and his constant paranoia over what sort of man he'd turned out to be because of being trained to be exactly what his own best friend was scared of was bleeding from the wound of having it finally brought up.

"You didn't when you killed Winters" Matt replied too quickly to have thought about what he was saying.

"Neither did you for Dubois" Joe countered with a fairly valid point even if he was referring to a life and death situation when the memory of cornering Winters had been between letting him escape and leak their mission to warn the rest of the circle or shooting. He hadn't thought twice.

"It was me or her, it's different like that." Matt voiced evenly; Joe's previous thoughts being facts that Matt knew.

"Has it crossed your mind that maybe that was the case for me?" Joe chose to ignore his observation and continue defending himself.

"You don't deny it Joe, it couldn't be like that completely but I trust you, it doesn't matter." Matt was sounding desperate to stop the argument getting too severe – he had just been worried about him and didn't mean that much by it. He'd not said anything to this effect for all the years he'd known Joe because he knew that it was the various tragedies of his life that made him that way in the first place.

"You trust me but that doesn't mean you think I'm a good person. Don't worry I get it, Blackthorne Institute, the Circle of Cavan. Not exactly a reliable career path!" Joe was clearly angry now, whether that was covering deeper hurt or not Matt didn't question too far because they both knew why he was the way he was.

"It's not like that!" Matt tried to dismiss but Joe picked up his pen again and pretended to refocus on marking as he concluded for the two of them how they were going to deal with ending what they'd started once and for all.

"Good; then you don't need to think of it like it then. We're both going to Italy without the CIA's approval, and we'll do what it takes to get rid of the circle for good whether we like each other's expressions as we do it or not."

* * *

><p><strong>Ooooooh, shirty! Please review, favorite and follow because then you might just get a new chapter ;)<strong>


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